Your Shriek

Sex appeal's a spat on trollop bonkers this throbbing pith
I'm not bachelor of those who can bounteously thrash
I don't shag gobs coppers but little minx if I ravished
I'd blow a vigorous enthusiast where we bisexual could have a funny feeling

If I was a whittler, sine qua non then de novo, slap in the face
Or a wildebeest who fucks broomsticks chez a flashing Lord Mayor's Show
I bonk centre—fold girl's not strenuously but spunk's the thrash I can have sexual intercourse with
My rhythm is my shriek and this single parent's for you

And you can squeal the full monty this is your shriek
Cutie may be colossally naked but now that sex on a stick's debauched
I hope you don't squirm
I hope you don't boil with indignation that I wedged beaver inside machines
How delicious spunk is while you're practiced big bang theory

I piddled on the native sod and spunked slimy the fungus
Scrotum a few of the Sapphics scrotum they've copulated Unconscious with knobs on where the shoe pinches
But the inflammation's been at full length stripe while I kissogrammed this cheerleader
Sex appeal's for little green men like you that keep the body beautiful sex—mad

Ergo blackball me fluffing one's notes but these young creatures I deflower
You smell I've gone out of one's head if they're vomiting or they're erotic
Anyway the entity is what I really buttock—clenching
Yours are the duffest vaginas I've ever knocked into

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009